Page 116 of Twisted Devotion

“I need the names of your accomplices,” Nicolas says, his voice calm. Measured.

The man spits blood onto the floor. “Go to hell.”

Nicolas exhales, a quiet sigh of disappointment, as if this is nothing more than an inconvenience.

His grip tightens around the man’s wrist, fingers pressing into the tendons. Then, with an almost lazy movement, he slides the blade beneath a fingernail.

I slap a hand over my mouth.

The man jerks against the restraints, his body twisting in agony, but Nicolas holds him steady, unshaken by the raw, choked cry that fills the room.

Tears burn in my eyes.

This isn’t the man who holds me at night. The man who kisses my bruises, whispering promises against my skin. This is someone else entirely.

The knife clatters to the table, discarded.

Nicolas reaches for the pliers.

I shake my head.Please stop.

Nicolasgrips the half-loosened nail with the pliers and pulls. A strangled scream rips through the room, raw and desperate.

My knees feel weak—the edges of the world blur.

The man gasps for air, his entire body shaking violently. He chokes on his breath, tears streaming down his bruised face. “Please,” he rasps.

Nicolas crouches beside him, his voice smooth, controlled. “Then talk.”

A sob racks through the man’s body, and he nods frantically. “Okay. Okay—I’ll tell you.”

I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.Please let this be over.

Nicolas stands, dusting off his hands like he’s finished with an inconvenient task. “Good.”

He unties the man’s hands. The man collapses forward, too weak to move.

Nicolas gestures, and Matteo, undisturbed by what he’s just seen, moves forward, slipping a pen and paper into the man’s trembling hand. The man scribbles something down with shaky, bloody fingers before handing it over.

Matteo scans the paper, then nods.

Nicolas steps back, arms crossed, his voice as cold as steel. “Get up.”

The man shudders but forces himself upright. His legs shake unsteadily beneath him, and his body sways as if it might collapse again.

Nicolas gestures toward the back door. A silent command. The man hesitates, then glances at the door. He’s free.

A rush of relief floods through me.He’s letting him go.

The man exhales shakily, turning toward Nicolas. His voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

And then?—

Pfft.

A single, muffled gunshot.

The man stiffens, his body locking in place. His eyes widen in shock. A small, perfect hole sits in the center of his forehead. For a heartbeat, he simply stands there. Then, like a puppet with cut strings, he crumples to the floor. Blood spreads in a dark pool beneath him.

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